


Episode: Redux

by dksfwm



Series: Untitled Drabbles and One-Shots [5]
Category: The X-Files
Genre: F/M, Missing Scene
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-12
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-03-30 13:53:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,205
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13952973
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dksfwm/pseuds/dksfwm
Summary: A missing scene from "Redux."





	Episode: Redux

“But as they lie to us we can lie to them. A lie to find the truth.” The expression on his face is completely serious, and one look directly into his eyes tells her exactly what he’s about to request.  
  
He wants her to convince everyone that he’s dead.  
  
She holds her tongue and decides to hear him out, but as he tells her his plan, she immediately begins to poke holes in it: There’s no way he’ll make it past DOD security. Her positive ID of him alone won’t be enough of a confirmation for higher-ups. Someone will find it suspicious when she doesn’t order an autopsy. People may catch on to them if she chooses to channel all her energy into proving that the world was out to get him, them, instead of properly mourning him. Their lie would be pointless.  
  
“Mulder…”

“It could very well be me in that apartment, Scully. The man doesn’t have a face anymore. Who’s to say it’s not me?”

She drops her gaze to the table and brings her hands, balled together with gentle pressure, to her forehead. She’s not sure if her headache is a symptom of overwhelming emotions or if it’s the tumor; truthfully, it doesn’t matter. He crouches down and tenderly places a hand on her back, balancing himself with his other hand by gripping the corner of the table.

“I say.” It comes out as a whisper, and he can actually feel her anguish. She refuses to look him in the eyes. It’s cruel, what he’s asking. He knows it. But he wouldn’t conspire with her like this unless he actually believed it would work. He chooses to silence the “now or never” thought lurking in the back of his mind.

The tips of his fingers trace delicate circles on her lower back and she exhales shakily, a surrender. He moves to wipe the tear that’s slipped past her lid, but not before she catches it on her own. He settles for bringing the hand that was resting on her back to her waist, sliding her across the chair until her side is pressed up against him, wrapping his other arm around her head.

“Save it for the committee, Scully. It’ll make it more believable.” He jokes, mumbles into her hair, presses his lips to the top of her ear, fights back tears of his own.

“I’m sorry.” She turns and speaks into his shoulder, dangerously inching closer to the side of his neck. “I shouldn’t be reacting like this. I’m tired and frustrated and…” Dying. She doesn’t voice that thought out loud, though. It already hangs over them, looming, waiting out the inevitable.

“I get it, Scully. It’s nice to know you’d miss me when I’m finally gone, though.” 

She pulls back and meets his gaze evenly, a bit defensive, perhaps, though her eyes are still glassy. His hand moves from her head to her fingers, his thumb brushing against her knuckles. “That’s not funny, Mulder.” 

He drops his head in concession, but continues to play on the sarcastic inflection of his voice, truth needing to be acknowledged. “It’s ironic, isn’t it? Going into this with roles essentially reversed.”

She cocks an eyebrow, relatively certain of what he’s implying, but not quite convinced. She wants him to say it, to abandon their unspoken rule of not addressing it, to stop dancing around her situation. She wants someone to be brave enough to verbalize it, even though uttering it out loud will devastate her, even though the impending conversation that will follow would get them nowhere.

“I know you’re getting worse.” She turns away from him again, sniffing before she exhales, dizzy. Struck that he can read her like his favorite book, know these innermost secrets of hers. Frightened that if he can see right through her façade, who else can? This is exactly the reaction she wanted to prevent, yet, at the same time, it’s everything she needs.

“It doesn’t take a medical professional or charts to know you’re sicker than you let on. I can see you deteriorating, Scully. Right in front of me.” His voice carries a hint of a tremble. The last thing she wants tonight, emotions already high, are these late-night confessions.

“What I don’t understand is why you won’t tell me.”

“What do you want me to say, Mulder? I told you from the start that the diagnosis was likely terminal. That short of a miracle...” She wants to be mad at him, wants him to be mad at her. Anger would mean feeling something, and feeling anything would be better than feeling nothing. She doesn’t have the fight left in her to feel much anymore.

“This is why we have to do this, lie to everyone. This might be my last chance to…” Save you. He doesn’t finish, doesn’t need to. They often leave things unspoken, neglect to finish their thoughts. But she already knows what he’s omitting. She always knows.

“It’s not your responsibility, Mulder.”

“I know that. God knows, you’ve told me plenty of times that none of this is my fault.” He doesn’t mean to patronize her, it’s just simply fact. “I’m not going to let myself be a martyr, Scully. But that doesn’t mean I’m going to sit back and watch you die and do nothing, either. Please. Let me do one last thing for you. Let me try give you a miracle.”

She thinks of how he’s already given her a miracle, just by being her partner, her friend. Dare she say it, that her miracle is that he loves her, even if neither of them will say it out loud. So many things they refuse to say out loud. She links her pinky with his. She doesn’t know what promise she’s making, or even if she can keep it. But she’s making it with him, and that’s the only incentive she needs.

She nods her head and he stands, satisfied, poised to let himself out and start this next iteration of their battle for truth and justice. Their pinkies stay connected until the last possible second.

He reaches her door and looks over his shoulder as he turns the knob. When their eyes connect, he’s confronted a her single tear tracking her cheek, his own threatening to surface, as well. He sees her plea: To stay safe. To come back to her. As much as it pains him to part with her, he knows that they have work to do.

The corners of his lips turn up slightly, though it feels like there is a finality to their conversation, this separation. It terrifies him, but he soldiers on. For her. Always for her. “See you on the other side, Scully.”

The door snicks shut just as the slightest hint of pink surfaces on the horizon. She lets her lightheadedness subside and makes her way to her shower, hoping it will rejuvenate her, even if it’s just in the slightest. Today, she has to pretend that her partner, her best friend, quite possibly the undisclosed love of her life, is dead, while making as little contact as possible with anyone close to them. She needs all the strength she can get.


End file.
